Bubble Baths and Rooftops
by PaperFrames
Summary: /She fists his shirt, searching for absolution as she presses her body firmly into his. He is her port, her anchor, and the storm inside of her is raging. The tears are endless and her throat raw./ Olivia's had one hell of a day, but leave it to her Superman to save her.


**A/N:** It's 5am, and this is where I'm at. This piece hit me like a ton of bricks and demanded to be written. Sorry about everything else i've yet to update. you can beat me for that later. I hope you enjoy this. It gets a bit . . . heated at the end, so beware. I think. Drop me a line to let me know what you think. And sadly, all mistakes are mine because its 5am on a Saturday. It's a day late for the 4th, but considering I was stuck at a family picnic all day, I'm lucky i got it posted at all!

**Disclaimer:** I own nada.

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><p><em>You saw me bludgeoned by circumstance.<em>  
><em>Lost, injured, hurt by chance.<em>  
><em>I screamed to the heavens….loudly screamed….<em>  
><em>Trying to change our nightmares into dreams…<em>

_The sun has come._  
><em>The mist has gone.<em>  
><em>We see in the distance our long way home.<em>  
><em>I was always yours to have.<em>  
><em>You were always mine.<em>  
><em>We have loved each other in and out<em>  
><em>in and out<em>  
><em>in and out<em>  
><em>of time.<em>

-"In and Out" - Maya Angelou

Her body is like lead as she climbs the four flights of stairs to her apartment, each step labored and forced; her thighs scream in protest. It's 9 o'clock at night, and the sun is just beginning to settle underneath the oncoming of night. The day has been long and cumbersome; though no matter how worn she is, both mentally and physically – she's certain there'll be no sleep in her near future. Whenever she closed her eye she could still see six-year-old Marissa Martin's caramel colored cherub face, bruised and broken, begging for loving arms and gentle caresses. Cases that involved children victims always hit Olivia the hardest. Not only did they remind her of her own trepid childhood, but also she could never understand the mere malice someone could possess towards a child.

Finally, after what seems like hours, Olivia reaches her apartment, she tucks her hand into her jacket pocket to retrieve her keys when her door creaks open. Always on alert, she places her hand on her gun, and slowly pushes the door open, expecting to find a perp in mid robbery. Instead, she finds a trail of rose petals, lit candles, and the sounds of Prince wailing from her stereo. A small smile inches its way across her face and she drops her hand from its defense position and shuts her front door. Her soft footfalls echo as her boots shuffle along the carpet and she follows the trail of petals and candles. They lead her into her bedroom, and then to the bathroom where she finds her boyfriend, perched on the edge of the tub.

"Hey." She says softly, her voice heavy with both sadness and glee. Tears brim in her eyes and she smiles the best she can.

"Hey, yourself . . .." He replies, returning the smile and rising to his feet. "Cragen called, told me about . . .."

He doesn't get to finish his words because at that moment she cracks, completely and utterly, shattering into a million pieces. The tears stream down her face and she sobs openly and woefully. She hates falling apart like this; hates not being able to control her emotions and being able to compartmentalize the day's happenings, but she can't stop.

"El, it was horrible; she's only six, she's six …and her mom; God her mom is horrible; said the little whore deserved it – El, she's six…" Olivia weeps hysterically, and then she's in his arms, his strong frame caging her as he brushes her hair from her face, rubs her back, and whispers sweet nothings into her ear.

She fists his shirt, searching for absolution as she presses her body firmly into his. He is her port, her anchor, and the storm inside of her is raging. The tears are endless and her throat raw. She hates talking about work with him, hates it because he's left the job, transferred to homicide where the cases are simpler, open and shut. He doesn't need the images, the markings of man's most evil inclinations in his head that keep her awake at night and haut her every thought, even though time and time again he's promised her that he doesn't mind; told her that he left SVU so that they could be something more than partners and knew that her job came with the promise of a life together.

"I know, Liv; I know baby, but it's over – because of you its over; these last six years, they'll soon become distant memory for her. She's safe now, Liv. You did that – you." He whispers, Brooklyn accent thick, her head resting under her chin as her sobs begin to quiet. "Lets get you into the bath; it's warm, and there's that honey milk bath bomb in there that you like." Elliot coaxes, his voice smooth and Olivia nods her understand into the plains of his large chest.

She takes a couple of deep breaths, her bottom lip quivers, and sniffles. Her eyes are red and she can taste salt.

"I'm sure this isn't how you planned on spending today. I'm sorry, El. If you want to leave to spend the night with the kids –"

"Don't even, Liv. You already know that I spend the day with them – well with the twins and Eli. Mo and Kathleen had better things to do than hang out with their old man. Kathy is taking Eli to see the fireworks tonight, and …" he drops one of his arms from around her frame and looks at his watch, "the twins are more than likely wreaking havoc on Kathy's neighbors; they're 'too old for fireworks.'" He laughs, and then pulls back, holding Olivia by the shoulders.

Gently, he guides one of his glove-like hands up to her chin and tilts her face up until she opens her baby browns to look at him. When she finally does, he presses a kiss to the bridge of her nose, and then each cheek, the taste of salt lingering on his lips as he pulls back.

Olivia smiles, content for the moment and wondering what she did before she had this Elliot; sure his partnership had been everything to her, but having him, like this, able to love her openly was everything.

Together they began to peel her work clothes from her body, first her jacket, and then her blouse. He unclipped the badge and gun from their place around her waist, setting them on the bathroom counter, and then unbuttoned her trousers. Normally Olivia would have rolled her eyes at his gesture, angry that he was treating her as if she was an invalid, but in this moment, she enjoys his actions. The love seeps from each gesture, each gentle stroke across her skin, and each sensual kiss he presses to her newly exposed flesh.

When he unclips her bra and pushes it down her arms, goose bumps pimple her flesh, and it falls to the floor. She shivers when, in one fail swoop, he pushes both her trousers and underwear down. His shoulders serve as her balancing post – legs still aching from her choice to walk up four flights of stairs – as she steps out of her slacks and panties.

Elliot guides her into the tub and she sinks down into the warm water, relaxation coming almost immediately. He reaches into her hair and pulls the elastic from her hair, and the brown, shoulder length locks cascade down around her face.

"I'm going to put these away," he informs her, nodding to her badge and glock before he disappears into her bedroom.

Olivia sinks down into the water and takes deep breath before submerging herself completely. She wills the images away – the pain, best she can, though she makes a mental note to call Donna Regan, head of social services tomorrow for an update on Marissa. From what Olivia had learned, the little girl had no immediate family, and would be on her way to foster care after the hospital.

When she returns to the water's surface, she finds Elliot, loofa in one hand, bottle of Johnson and Johnson's Lavender & Chamomile body wash in the other. He's on his knees next to the tub, a smile on his face and his eyes blue eyes are full of love.

"I can wash myself," Olivia states, though there's not fight to her words.

"Yeah, I know, but what's the fun in that?" Elliot retorts, a grin spread across his face as he begins to lather the loofa. "Besides, the quicker we get you cleaned up, the quicker we can get to my surprise."

"Surprise?" questions Olivia as Elliot begins to wash her back; she closes her eyes and revels in feeling, trying to suppress a moan at his ministrations.

"Lift your head," he instructs, and she does. He runs the loofa under her chin, leaving a trail of bubbles on her skin. "Yup, a surprise."

Part of Olivia feels like a little girl as he washes her, and she wonders if she should be embarrassed. They've been together – officially – for six months, and she's become so dependent on him at times that she hates herself. Even though this is Elliot, she doesn't want to rely on another human being so wholly. But the other part of her loves moments like this, the intimacy and the closeness, the blind trust and faith.

"What if I said I don't like surprise?" She asks as he continues he begins to rinse off the soapsuds and then reaches for the vanilla jasmine shampoo. His fingers are running through her hair and rubbing her head seconds later and she can't help but to moan this time.

"I'd say tough shit, Benson. You're getting a surprise. Now, close your eyes."

/

Roughly twenty-five minutes later, after making certain all of the candles were out, Elliot and a freshly clean Olivia climb the stairs to her roof. She groans as her knees protest, but propel her forward nonetheless. She's dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and one of Elliot's oversized NYPD t-shirts. They're hand in hand as he leads her over to a nest of pillows and blankets. Two cartons of Chinese food – General tso's for him, Chicken and broccoli for her, sit perched in the middle of the nest. The night air is cool, and the lights of Manhattan, bright.

Tears brim in Olivia's eyes once more and she smiles, unable to speak.

After a few moments, she finds her voice. "El, you didn't have to do any of this."

"I know I didn't, but see Liv, when you love someone and you find out that they had a shit day, you do things like this. . ." he explains, nonchalance lacing his tone as he shrugs his shoulders and squeezes her hand.

Olivia returns the gesture and turns into him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips as her stomach rumbles. Silently, she promises herself that she won't cry again. She's shed her weight in tears for the day. "I'm starving!" She proclaims then, dropping his hand and moseying her way to the blankets.

It takes her mere seconds to pop open the carton of chicken and broccoli and dig in. She's eating as if she's never eaten before when she hears laughter. Elliot is standing on the edge of the blankets, his large frame shaking from laughter as he watches her.

"Hungry?" he asks jokingly before climbing into the circle and sitting down next to her. He grabs his own carton of food and begins to munch from it.

They sit in silence, eating and just existing, sharing the same space effortlessly. Moments like this are what Olivia loves most about their relationship. There's no rush to fill the silence with idle chat because they know each other, the unsaid is how they function.

Leaning over until their shoulders are touching, Olivia reaches into Elliot's carton of chicken and steals a piece, popping it into her mouth with a satisfying grin. Elliot does the same and they go back and forth until both cartons of food are almost gone. Satisfied, Olivia shuts her carton and sets it outside the blankets and Elliot follows suit. Before he even has the opportunity to turn back around, Olivia's straddling him, a soft smile on her lips.

"Hi." She whispers, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close until their foreheads are touching.

"Hi." He whispers back, his arms wrapping around her midsection and pulling her close. Their bodies are pressed close together and she can feel his breath on her lips.

"I love you." Olivia tells him, and he grins, his arms snake up her back and then she finds herself on her back. Elliot hovers over her, resting his on his forearms, her knees on other side of him.

"I love you, too, Liv. So much. Your stubbornness, your temper, and the way you get involved in your job – how you put up with me. I love you."

His words send her stomach into a flurry of butterflies and knots and she wiggles against him, bringing her legs up and using her heels to pull him to her until they're pelvis to pelvis. "Then make love to me?"

"I thought you'd never ask . . ." And then his tongue is sliding against hers, and they're riding each other of prospective clothing.

Her shirt slips over her head, and his tank top is next. They're chest to chest as Olivia's nails rake down his back, and Elliot lets loose a terse hiss at the sting. His lips are trailing down her bare chest, and stopping at her clavicle, gently sucking on the warm flesh. She's glad that she decided against putting a bra back on.

His fingers trails down her sides and Olivia giggles uninhibitedly, her legs spreading wider to allow Elliot to settle better in them.

"God I love you," He repeats, his mouth trails from her clavicle down her bare chest, and he takes her right breast into his mouth, gently biting and then suckling the soft flesh before he continues about his way. His hands land on the band of her shorts and with one soft tug they're off his body. He's peppering kisses along the insides of her thighs and Olivia's all but trembling in anticipation as she grips the blankets beneath her. She's wet and she wants him. When his tongue comes into contact with the bundle of nerves at the juncture of her legs, she hisses, her back bucking and her hands grip the blankets tighter. He slides her tongue over her once more, and she moans, loud, her legs spread farther apart, and in the haze of pure lust, she realizes that, while she loves what his mouth is doing to here, she wants to feel the weight of his body on her. She wants to feel him fill her, make her whole.

"El – El – Elliooot," she croons, trying to find her voice though he's certainly making it hard. "El, ba-ba-baby. . . I – ohhhh- I—oh – God, I want you. . ."

"You have me," he grins, lifting his mouth for a moment to glance at her, one of his large hands rests on her stomach, and the other strokes the skin beneath his lips.

Olivia knows if he keeps it up, she's going to come, and she wants to come with him inside her. It takes all her strength, but she manages to flex the muscles in her thighs enough to gain Elliot's attention. He lifts his head, his mouth wet with her juices.

"I want you inside me, El, now – please." She grates through forced breaths; her chest rises and falls rapidly.

"Whatever you want, Liv," he answers, licking his lips as he snakes up her body, and his mouth finds hers. She snakes her arms between them, and pushes on his own pajama bottoms until they're sliding down his frame. It takes a couple of tries, but eventually he's out of them completely. He strokes her one last time with his fingers, making certain that she's ready for him before he enters her in one thrust.

Olivia's back arches immediately, taking him in as her body adjusts to accommodate his length. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down on top of her until they're chest to chest, not even a millimeter of space in between them.

Elliot doesn't move, not yet. He just lays there, his arms cradling around Olivia's head as they stare into each other's eyes. Tears hang in the corners of Olivia's brown orbs, and his reaches forward, pressing a kiss to each eyelid as she closes them and the tears slip down her cheeks.

They're in no rush, they've jammed the door shut to the roof so that no one could join them, and no one or nothing exists outside of this moment.

Slowly, Elliot begins to move; his strokes are slow and long, languid and strong. Olivia's breath hitches and her arms drop from his nail to his shoulders, her legs inch up higher until her heels are digging into the backs of his thighs. His motions elicit moans of pleasure from her lips and he brings his lips to hers, kissing her gently.

As he fucks into her, Olivia can't help but cry – not from sadness, but the overwhelming love he's showing her in that moment. Her hips begin to move in rhythm to his, and the sound of skin against skin, along with Elliot's heavy breathing and Olivia's moans slice the silence in half.

It's 10PM, on a cool summer's Sunday night, and there's nowhere in the world that she would rather be than here. Each thrust of his hips into hers leaves Olivia breathless and trying, anyway she can, to draw him further into her. She wants to feel him on every inch of her – in every inch of her. She rakes her nails down his back, down to his ass as she grabs it, and Elliot hisses, and his thrusts speed up. Olivia lifts her hips and she's close to the edge; so is he.

He's fucking into her faster now, harder, and she's crying out, certain that anyone who has their window open underneath her can hear her indecipherable epithets of love and pleasure. His strokes are stronger, faster, and she links her legs together at her ankles until she's all but ready to explode, the friction of his pelvis pressed against her, helping her alone.

"I want you to come for me, Liv." Elliot grates out between thrusts into her ear and the mere vibrations of his voice send her over the edge. Her walls clamp down around him and she shouts his name. He's not too far behind, the friction of her pulsating walls lead him to come, too, as he lazy strokes her a few more times, gently, and his mouth finds hers. His tongue dances along hers and his thrusts start to die out until he's just resting inside of her.

"Move, and die," threatens Olivia, her voice husky - satisfied as she coaxes him to stay inside of her, and Elliot obliges. Before he let's his full weight come down on her, he reaches to his left and grabs the spare blanket and pulls it around them, and then settles atop of her. They remain like that for a couple of minutes before Elliot rolls over, careful not to pull out of her, but so that they're side by side, blanket covering them.

Olivia's eyes lazily fall closed, and Elliot strokes her cheek with his hand before pulling her close.

Just then, the sky explodes in color. Red, white, and blue light splinter the darkness of the sky.

"I see someone's lighting off fireworks in Central Park," Elliot whispers, and Olivia nods lazily; she's finding it difficult to keep her eyes open.

Laughing lightly, Elliot presses a kiss to her head and whispers, "Marry me, Liv."

And for once, Olivia can't find a reason to say no. She knows that she won't be getting married any time soon, and his proposal does scare the shit out of her, but at that moment, she can only say one thing.

"Okay," she replies sleepily, and sky explodes once more with light.

**-Fin-**


End file.
